You Will Be Found || dear evan hansen (connor x evan)

chapter sixteen

     Heidi unlocked the door, practically pushing her son out of it as they arrived at the hospital.

     "I don't need therapy I'm fine," Evan spoke, trying to convince her. But she just shook her head  and waved him out the door. He sighed as he walked to the front desk, screaming and breaking in his head and yet it only resided in a whisper. "Uh... Evan Hansen?" 

     "Ah yes! Dr. Miller just came in actually... she will see you now. It's just through those doors to the left. 248," the young woman smiled. Her hair was red and curled at the ends; with blue eyes and pink lips and freckles. 

     "Th-Thank you," Evan stuttered, walking through the doorway. He arrived at a small room with eggshell white walls and carpet that looked as though it used to be cream. A woman was sat at the desk, typing something on a laptop she probably brought from home. He knocked shallowly on the door, unsure of where to go. "Are you Dr. Miller?"

     "Sure am. Evan? Evan Hansen?" Evan nodded. "Why don't you take a seat? I know your mother. Such a strong woman. I understand you've had a rough week, huh?" He nodded once again, sadder this time. "Have you done therapy with us before?"

     "I was uh, supposed to but... money is kind of tight right now," the doctor nodded, jotting something down on her clipboard. "So... how exactly does this work? Am- Are you gonna tell my mom everything?"

     She looked up at him with a caring gaze. "Only if we feel you are in trouble of endangering yourself or others. You will be informed exactly what we tell and to whom. For the most part though, you are safe here. Feel free to say anything you'd like."

     "Okay."

     "First question... have you ever had thoughts of self harm?" Evan nodded. "Have you ever self harmed?" He nodded again. "Alright. Next question. Do you abuse substances?"

     "Define... substance."

     "Pills, alcohol, drugs..." she went on and Evan nodded slowly. His head was pounding with anxiety. He just wanted to run and run and run and run, but he couldn't waste his mother's money. Not now. Not after the hospital incident.

     "Alright last question. I understand you have a history of attempts, may I ask how many?" she asked, as if it was a simple question. As if Evan could answer in a heartbeat. As if even thinking of the answer was easy.

     "T-Two."

     "Two? Your mom put down just one," she backed away from the paper, turning her attention to the nervous boy in front of her. His eyes refused to meet hers, clouded and glazed as if he could cry. His fingers shook and his voice was uncertain, as if he himself didn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. "Two."

     "Okay," she jotted something down, then looked back up at Evan. "So Evan, on a scale of 1-10, 10 being the best; how are you feeling today?"

     Evan looked down, and while playing with the zipper of his coat he answered, "2."

     "May I ask why?" she said simply. She could never understand what was going through Evan's head. Abort abort abort his brain shouted at him as he tried to keep up with the conversation. He hated talking to people about himself... burdening them. hurting them. if only she knew.

     she'd hate you too.